


Thread

by honeybee592



Series: OTP: You're the boss [6]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dom/sub, F/M, Light Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-08 12:02:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3208457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybee592/pseuds/honeybee592
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grace and Iron Bull. Together, alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thread

As Bull set his mug down, he noticed someone standing in the doorway, all the way on the other side of the tavern. She waved, then she was gone. Bull excused himself from the raucous conversation of his company— _duty calls—_ picked up a spool of thread from Krem, promising to return it one piece, probably, and headed across the yard and up the steps into the Keep.

Grace wasn’t hiding in the shadows near the fireplace. She must’ve already escaped to her chambers. Perhaps tonight wouldn’t be the best time to suggest the thread. He’d be able to make his mind up once he had her alone. No one paid him any attention as he ambled through the hall. A nod to the guard allowed him access to the stairs. He took them one at a time. No need to hurry.

After four knocks on the chamber door, he waited for Grace to call him in. Sometimes he had to wait a while. Sometimes he waited so long he’d end up slumped against the door. Tonight she called him immediately, voice wavering through the solid wood.

She’d lit candles. Lots of candles. She’d call the soft yellow light ‘romantic’ or something like that. Bull would call it ‘practical’. Came to mean the same thing when they fell together like this.

“Make me forget today ever happened. Please.” Grace stood in the centre of her room, so small in such a large space. Smaller, even, when Bull took her in his arms and held her close. He peppered kisses in her hair until he felt her tension ease.

They followed a script they knew by heart, felt in their hearts. Grace undressed him first, unbuckling his harness and belt, setting them on the table out of the way. The brace around his shin came next, his boots and socks, all neatly stacked next to his other gear. Finally, Bull took over, shucking his trousers so Grace wouldn’t have him tower over her.

Grace smiled that shy smile, the one that meant she felt wonderfully wicked and a little embarrassed for what was about to happen. Bull would never tire of seeing that smile. He’d never tire of unbuttoning her tunic, either, or letting it fall down her arms to the floor. He sank to his knees and eased her trousers down, lifting one foot, then the other, freeing her. He could smell her already, a scent he’d grown fond of over these past months.

He held her by the waist, gazing up at her. Kadan. A kiss to her bellybutton, two more up her chest, then one on each breast. She sighed at each, voicing a bad a thought every time, throwing it away on her breath just like he’d taught her to do. By the time he’d reached her chin, her lids hung heavy, her expression dopey. She’d be strong enough for the thread tonight. He reached over to grab the spool, passing it to her. She turned it over in her hands as he explained what he’d do.

“You’ll kneel up on the bed, hands behind your head, like this. I’m going to wrap the thread around you. Firm, but not tight. You won’t be tied down and you’ll be able to break free. But your goal,” he unraveled a length of thread, pulled it tight between his fingers, “is not to snap the thread.” With a jerk, the thread snapped.

“But it’s so fragile.” Grace took the broken pieces from Bull and twisted them in her hands.

“It’s stronger than you think. This thread is silk. It looks delicate, looks fragile, and if it’s pushed to its limits, then it will snap. But treated in the right hands, then it is strong and durable.”

Grace met Bull’s eye, determination etched where lust had just been. Maybe she’d read between the lines, maybe she hadn’t, wasn’t always easy to tell. But she nodded and took her place on the bed. Bull watched as she walked away, the soft curves of her body accentuated by the candle light. He looked down at himself. Not as soft as his kadan. A life on the front lines had scrubbed away any part of the Iron Bull that could be called soft. But the light did smooth the muscle, diminish the scars. When he looked up, Grace was in position, waiting. Oh yes, this woman. The things she did to Bull without her even knowing it.

Her first test came when he joined her on the bed. The mattress dipped with his weight, tipping her off balance. One arm came down, fist bracing for stability. She’d screwed her face up. Defeated already. But she was better than this, he knew she was. So he waited. He watched her chest as she took a deep breath and put her hand back behind her head. When she opened her eyes, she tilted her chin back, proud. That’s his girl right there.

Bull uncoiled a length of thread, looping it around her neck, securing the end in a knot that wouldn’t tighten if she pulled.

“Not over my face,” she said.

“Of course.”

He wound the thread up one arm and back down, over her shoulder, between her breasts, around her back, keeping it tight enough so it wouldn’t slip, but not so tight that it could cut. She didn’t like being marked for long. Faint red lines like these, they’d be gone by morning, along with Bull, and she’d wake rested and restored. That’s what he aimed for.

Grace was nothing like the people he’d done this for in the past, not that there’d been many who’d received such single minded attention from him. The Tamassrans could dole out almost anything and Bull would take it. He’d get the release he needed, his freedom, then he’d be on his way. For Grace to give up control, well the problem was she often didn’t feel like she had any control to start with. Downstairs, out there, she was expected to follow her advisors, go where they nudged her, say what they told her to say and to who. She was a twig in a rushing river, caught in never ending eddies. So this, the thread, could give her control over her own body. Bull would be able to test that control, push her, tease her till she trembled and whimpered, tried desperately to hold back the desire to move. Her release would be all the sweeter for her efforts.

Bull continued to wind the thread. Down her torso, around her thighs, her ass, between her legs. He snapped off the thread and made a tidy knot on her inner thigh. If the thread held—and he expected it would—then he’d be able to pull the end, watch the bow unravel, then wind it up for next time.

He sat back to look at his work, admired the fine web he’d spun. Grace smiled at him, her bad day already forgotten. She wouldn’t be able to remember anything once he’d finished with her. With a smile of his own, he dragged a firm finger from her lips, down her chin, throat, between her tits. Her muscles bunched, staying firm and steady. She let out a whine as he slipped his finger between her legs, just toying with her, before dragging the slick back over her belly.

“Don’t tickle me,” she whispered.

“I wouldn’t do that this time. That’s cheating. I don’t cheat.”

He set to testing her, teasing her, kissing and stroking as much of her skin as he could. Her eyes slipped closed, concentration written over her face. He would’ve told her to keep her eyes open, focus on him, but this was her challenge, her effort, and he wouldn’t undermine her.

As he stroked her folds, she whimpered, body shaking, fingers gripping her hair behind her head. She was close, so close. He could back off now, let her cool down before bringing her to her peak again. Her cry would be delicious, her fight to keep still and remain composed would hit Bull in all the right places. Or he could push her over the edge now. She’d done so well, especially with something new, having to control herself, rather than having Bull hold her down.

A strangled gasp escaped and her body shook, muscles taut as she strained to stay in place. He noticed the slip of the thread just a moment too late.

“Oh…. Fuck.” Grace cried. “I broke it.” She kept her arms in place, didn’t move. Just screwed her face up in defeat. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I tried. I’m sorry.”

Bull placed his hands on her waist, dipped in and kissed her forehead. “It’s okay, Grace. You lasted this long.”  
“But I  _broke_ it!”

She was more upset about this than Bull thought she’d be. He entered damage control mode, thinking quick for a solution.

“I’ll tie the two ends back together and we can keep going.”

She shook her head. “I lost it. I can’t get it back.”

She meant her release. Pushed too far, or teased for too long, or unable to let go, escape, Grace could lose her edge and Bull couldn’t do much to get her back to that place. When that had happened before, he put his failure down to experiment and set himself the task of learning her body completely. Right now, he had an idea: distraction.

“We’ll stop this, do something else. But stay still. I’m going to coil the thread up for next time. Keep your hands where they are.”

Grace nodded, still pained. Bull kissed her again before unthreading his work, coiling it around his thumb and finger. The thread had snapped near her hip, where lay over the bone; a weak point he would remember. Finally free, she relaxed, but still stayed in place. Bull cupped her ass, kissed her forehead, nose, lips, chin. He traveled down, feeling the change in her skin, her heart. She breathed in deep as he kissed each nipple, gasping and squirming in his hold. He continued down, kissed her belly button, dragged his lips against her skin until he reached her hip. Pulling her in close, holding her right against his lips, he sucked in a breath and blew a raspberry over the spot where the thread had broken.

Grace shrieked, the cry dissolving into laughter as he did it again. “Bull! That isn’t helping!” She brought her arms down now, pushing at his horns to get him away, but he held her tight and made a show of filling his lungs. Her body tightened and she shrieked again in anticipation. But all he did was kiss her gently. She sighed as he eased her onto her back, working her legs out from under her so she’d be comfortable.

And he set to work again. There was no way he was leaving this room until she’d come—at least once. His honour wouldn’t let him, not this time, not after the strength she’d shown him. So he fell back on what he knew, touching the places that had her gasping, moaning as he licked and sucked. She writhed beneath him and a pang of lust shot through him, knowing he’d worked her back to that edge again.

“Bull,” she moaned, and he knew she was there, right there. He felt her tip over, tasted it, smelled it as she jerked around him, but he didn’t let up. He kept going, lighter, rumbling into her moans, fingers pressed into her hips as she clawed at the sheets.

Finally he pulled back, looked down on the panting, sweating woman before him. Faint red lines crisscrossed her arms where the thread had been and want surged through him. He climbed to his knees and crawled forward, pulling Grace to him, sinking into her. They both groaned with the satisfaction at the comfort, the fit. She gripped his thighs as he thrust.  _Harder_ , he said, and she obliged, digging her fingernails into his muscle, the sharp pain hitting him, making him shiver and his spine tingle.

Seeing her tits jiggle in time to his thrusts undid him. Her nipples, still hard and pink, were just ripe for tasting. But he couldn’t move, couldn’t shift now. Not when he was so close himself. She gripped his thighs, nails scratching as she scrabbled for purchase. That did it for him. He growled, forced himself to keep his eye open, watch the whole spectacle unravel before him. He emptied himself into her with three final slams, holding her tight, drinking in her gasps, the stink of sex that filled the room.

Grace’s fingers loosened, stroked his skin instead of scratching. For a moment they paused, staring back at each other. They were one being in that instant, more than at any time. Those precious seconds where Grace Trevelyan was the only person Iron Bull had ever wanted, they stretched on and he memorised the image so he could savor it later. Then he slipped out.

When he’d done kissing her, wiping her down, dressing her and tucking her in, he sat with her. Tonight he held her hand as she drifted off to sleep. She mumbled sometimes. He couldn’t catch the words.

Once her breathing settled into a steady rhythm, he inched his way off the bed, dressed as quietly as he could, pocketed the thread then slipped out the door and back to his quarters in the Chargers’ camp. She’d want to try that again. He’d tie her, gladly, and watch as his strong woman rise to his challenge.


End file.
